


Eye Catcher

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Dom Jonathan Sims, Dom/sub Undertones, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Marriage, Power Dynamics, Priests, Ritual Public Sex, Sub Martin Blackwood, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: The Archivist anoints his high priest, and binds them together.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 99





	Eye Catcher

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this idea: _I would love them to stumble into a domain that somehow involves the Church of the Archivist or something, especially if Martin gets sulky because he's been devoted to Jon since before it was cool._ Plus "100 words of throne sex."

They are watched because Jon commands it. 

The knowledge weighs heavily on Martin as he tugs the satin belt of his robe tighter and tries to focus on the throne. Too much of him still belongs to the Lonely to be entirely comfortable with being Beheld. But he will do this. He has to do this.

There is nothing he wants more than to bind himself fully to Jon.

It began with an argument, Martin snapping at Jon’s adoring followers, Jon laughing, asking if he was jealous. Surprised, even with all he knows, that it was true. He still doesn’t look into Martin’s mind, when he can. Martin knows that will change now. And it terrifies him. But he won’t go back.

He paces slowly down the aisle lined with pews and strewn with white petals. His robe is also white, as is Jon’s. To further draw the eye—the Eye—with its blinding intensity. But Martin doesn’t care about the Watcher in the sky. He only cares about the man—the Archivist—who awaits him with a smile. 

It takes everything in him to force himself into a measured stride. _Do we really need to be so dramatic?_ he asked, when Jon first proposed it, laughing when Jon grumbled about Martin not understanding the importance of ritual and ceremony. When Martin continued to needle him, he finally laughed himself, and admitted he might enjoy it just a bit, and yes, it probably wasn’t strictly necessary. A confession Martin rewarded with a kiss. 

When he agreed, he thought of it as humoring Jon, but it’s so much more than that. Sitting on his throne with his close-eyed crown and clad in his robe embroidered with golden eyes, Jon looks like a king. No, a god, because the relative simplicity of his appearance does nothing to hide the power of his gaze. Now and forever, locked on Martin. 

They practiced the movements to get to this place, but not the final acts. _It’s not the same if we do it before_ Jon said, and Martin sighed and agreed. Maybe it means he’s more nervous now, but he finds himself seeing Jon’s point. Particularly when he drops his robe and is rewarded with a small gasp from Jon as he kneels across his lap on the throne. 

Martin undoes Jon’s robe, pleased to find his cock already hard. Just from watching, and not watching anyone, but watching Martin act in accordance to his every wish. Martin smiles at him, but doesn’t speak. That isn’t his role. Instead, he focuses on adjusting his position, spreading his legs and lining up his already prepared hole, waiting for Jon to begin. 

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his ascent as High Watcher of the Eye, and—” His breath hitches. “—his marriage to the Archivist.”

Martin wants to lean in and kiss him, but he knows that must come later. For now, Jon needs his mouth free. And anyway, Martin has more important things to worry about. Opening himself is not simply a physical thing if he truly wants to be part of Jon, to always be the first eyes he uses among the many. 

Even with his preparation, it’s a shock as he sinks down, letting Jon stretch and fill him. It’s not that Jon’s cock is all that thick, but then it’s not really his cock alone Martin is taking. Already he can feel Jon entering him in so many other ways, leaving him gasping, stifling a moan as he throws his head back and focuses on the mirrored ceiling. 

It is no ordinary mirror, as they are no ordinary men. Warped and changed into something far greater, reflecting each angle, capturing Martin’s wet parted lips, the way his hole stretches around Jon, the flush of his skin. Through it all, Jon speaks, intoning each moment of Martin’s terror, the terror he feels even now. But he can’t go back, and so he gives into it, letting Jon drown him in words and body and terrible secrets. 

The Onlookers are silent, for that is their role, but Martin can feel the touch of their own eyes like a brand. They follow the knobs of his spine, see how it curves under Jon’s hand. They hear the scream that catches in his throat, held back by the force of Jon’s words. And they know he does not want to be here. They know he wants Jon, and not the Archivist. 

And it only makes him all the more beautiful to them, for how they peel away his lies. 

It is a lie itself, that he cares for their regard, their judgment, their knowing sneers. Oh, he wants to escape it, but it’s not them that makes him cry out again and again as he rides Jon, muffled noises drowned out under the force of his statement. When the time comes, he turns his gaze from the mirror, and finds Jon’s wild eyes again. The statement is almost at an end. But the climax has yet to come.

Martin stills for a moment, as Jon lifts the crown from his head and unclasps the back. The weight of it is heavier than knowledge as he brings it around Martin’s neck, all while he continues his litany of fear. But he doesn’t close it, not yet. Not when they remain on that white hot edge of fevered terror, waiting for the final words that will bring Martin over the brink.

When it comes, Jon leans in to murmur against his lips. Inside Martin, Jon feels overwhelming, too large for Martin to contain. But he will try—he must try—and Jon knows this. It’s why he smiles, why he drags fond fingers through Martins tears, and brings them to his lips. Then he grasps the edges of the collar and forces them together just as he speaks the words.

“Statement begins.” 

Martin sees, oh god, oh Jon—he sees. Jon comes inside him, and as he is filled he feels the collar melting into his skin, finally tearing the ecstatic scream from his throat. When he is raw and limp and trembling, he manages to find the strength to bring his fingers to his throat. To touch what he does not need to see, for he is looking out. Seeing the lips that press lovingly against one of many unblinking eyes that now encircle him. 

“I take you,” Jon says. 

And Martin cannot help but give.


End file.
